


Hair Conditioning

by GhostGarrison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Conditioning, Crack Ending, Friends to Lovers, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: Every time Anders puts his hair up, Hawke gets a boner in response. Like a twisted version of Pavlov's dog.





	

Hawke first met Anders in primary school. His hair was long then, hanging to his waist in a silken waterfall of gold. The girls of the class always looked at it in awe and envy, begging him to let them braid it with ribbons and bows. He rarely said no, basking in the attention of their female peers during free time. However, it also brought about the attention of bullies, nasty children who draw amusement from yanking on it.

One morning, both Hawke and Anders found themselves silently fidgeting on the tiny chairs outside the headmaster's office as they wait for their parents. His father always taught him to protect those who were being hurt, so that day Hawke hit a bully in the face who pulled Anders’ hair so hard he cried. It got everyone involved in trouble, but when Anders flashed him a toothy smile in thanks, Hawke instantly decided he had no regrets. And they’ve been friends ever since.

In their eighth year, Hawke’s feelings for his friend changed. On top of wanting to play games with him on the weekends, he wanted to run his hands through those golden locks and pull Anders in for a kiss. He never told him about these feelings, but he’s felt regret ever since Anders’ parents sent him away to a boarding school in the summer.  
For two long years, Hawke saw neither hide nor glorious hair of his best friend.

Halfway through Hawke’s second year of high school, Anders abruptly returned—his hair cropped short and his patience for the world even shorter.

As they caught up in his bedroom that night, Hawke watched his friend carefully as he recalled the past two years—his parents getting more and more upset with him by the day, the arguing, the fighting, the eventual last straw that led to his enrollment at a boarding school far away. The story grew more and more horrifying, describing Circle Academy like a prison intent on taking all things beautiful and magical out of life. 

As Anders continued unprompted, Hawke drank in his appearance as well as his words. Anders had grown even more tall and slender, more handsome and beautiful, even without the long hair. His skin had gained more freckles and his lips more pink, both of which Hawke wants to kiss. The flickering flame that burned in his chest blossomed into an unquenchable fire when Anders reached across the mattress and laid his hand over Hawke’s.

From then on, they never leave each other's side, their friendship growing into something close and incredibly intimate over the years. Anders started letting his hair grow again, always leaving loose to frame the angles of his face as they finish up their time in high school. It just barely reaches the nape of his neck by graduation, unruly strands peeking out from beneath the cap, but he looks beautiful. Hawke notes that the length brought Anders a little closer to how he once was and takes him further away from his parents’ tyranny.

They attended the same university, living together and sharing a bed despite their conflicting schedules. Though they don’t always fall asleep together, they always woke up together. The morning sun filtered through cheap curtains, rays casting every strand of Anders’ hair in gold where it spread across the pillow like an angelic halo.

It was mornings like these where they linger a little longer in the comfort and shared warmth of their bodies beneath the sheets. Sometimes they pull each other closer to doze, other times they get up to more playful activities.

But every time, Anders paused, dug out an elastic band from the nightstand or the floor, and pulled his hair into a bun at the crown of his head. And every time, Hawke frowned because he can’t card his fingers through Anders’ hair as he pleases, but at least he can still pull it the way that made Anders gasp and squirm and beg _‘more, harder, please.’_

Hawke never asked Anders to keep his hair down during sex—it’s his lover’s preference over his own, whatever makes him happy is all he desires. He supposed it doesn’t really matter, since he can pull on it either way, but then he began to notice that Anders _always_ put his hair up before things get going. He didn’t think too much of it—it gets in the way and keeping eye contact with Anders _does things_ to Hawke—but it isn’t until much later that Hawke realized the effects.

On the rare afternoon that they both have free of responsibilities, Hawke invited Anders to the gym not too far away. Normally they’d both choose to spend their spare time tangled together on the couch with something quiet playing on the television, but Hawke was feeling restless—an anxious energy coursing through his veins as the term’s end swiftly approached. Anders agreed, disappearing to change into sweatpants and one of Hawke’s shirts that he sworn had gone missing.

Just before they left for the trek in the drizzling rain to the gym, Anders darted across the living room to retrieve one of the many hair elastics on the table beside the couch. The sight of that spun gold being tied back into a red elastic made any and all thought drain from Hawke’s mind, emptying it for everything and anything except Anders. And memories. Lots of _vivid_ memories.

Hair, in a low ponytail. Lips wrapped around his cock, warm and wet and inviting.

Hair, a braid slung over his shoulder. Fingers touching, stretching, curling inside.

Hair, knotted in a high bun. Bodies writhing together, sweat-slicked skin easing the friction.

Hair, tied back with a sliver of ribbon. Gasping breaths puffing against his ear, begging for more.

Suddenly Hawke found his heart is pumping a little faster, lungs breathing a little harder, blood rushing to places it _definitely shouldn’t._

“Hawke,” Anders began, jaw hanging while staring at him owlishly. “Are you… Did you just…?”

When the man’s eyes dropped to his hardening groin, Hawke’s hands flew to cover himself before he sprinted down the hall toward the bathroom. _“I did not!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this ridiculous post about Anders' hair and unfortunate boners.](http://storybookhawke.tumblr.com/post/151260493758/youve-heard-of-anders-who-takes-his-hair-down-for) This is probably the dumbest thing (or dumbest ending) I've ever written.
> 
> Come find me @ storybookhawke


End file.
